


you do this before? | Not really

by cyndrat



Series: Detroit: Reverse Roles [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol was involved, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Android Gavin Reed, Android Hank Anderson, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Kissing, M/M, Role Reversal, Sort of Dub-con, in that they're both basically drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndrat/pseuds/cyndrat
Summary: In which Connor is a little bit drunk, a lot affectionate, and Gavin is so very, very confused.





	you do this before? | Not really

**Author's Note:**

> ENTER: the beginning of the almost/not-quite slice-of-life fics....  
> a lil idea that basically comes out of the end note of "Breaking Routine" where Gav admits he's kissed Connor aaaaand I wanted to expand on what/how that happened so here it is  
> Gav got hurt or something and he has funneled like 90% of his processing power/energy/attention into self-repair, so he's ~~a little~~ a lot out of it because of that  
>  reread a few times but otherwise unedited... also I keep changing/adjusting the way I format the 'droids' internal analyzing/etc wordage

"Anderson?" Gavin murmurs upon seeing a familiar brunet head wander into his visual range.

"Gavin," the man says, swinging around to face him. Brown eyes, light-coloured button up and loose tie, softer tone of voice - not the Anderson he thought. "Gavin," he says again, stepping forwards unevenly. Gavin drops his gaze to Connor's feet, sees the uncharacteristic sneakers and a thick sock-like shape. He initiates a small range scan, focusing on Connor's foot and ankle.

**> MILD SPRAIN<**

**> >Treatment includes: combination of rest, ice, compression, elevation, over-the-counter anti-inflammatory pain medication as needed<<**

The Lieutenant is doing one thing right, and he would likely make an argument for two - the ankle brace is limiting his use of the joint somewhat. "You should sit down," Gavin suggests, seeing the recommendation blink in his HUD. A strong enough recommendation that it remains up, but not strong enough to be classified as an objective. He is sitting himself, perched on top of his desk where Nines had ordered him to stay. His easy agreement had been met with suspicion, but he hadn't bothered to explain.

"Gavin, Gaaavin."

He frowns, looking up from the Lieutenant's feet - when had Connor stepped closer? - and wonders if the Lieutenant has sustained a concussion. He runs another localized scan, checking for any head contusions at the same time as slipping a small query to the medical services android. The auto-fix diagnostic pings to alert him of the way his processing power is being stretched thin. He blinks it away, along with the negative answer from the medical services android. His own scan returns nothing that would indicate the chance of a concussion.

So he really isn't sure why Connor is close - closer than they ever are unless one of them is gearing up to throw a punch - or why he feels… whatever it is he's feeling. Understanding his emotions is a much lower priority compared to self-repairing, so he knows there's some feeling that is threatening to affect his choices and actions but he can't guess what it is or how it'll affect him.

"Why's your face so, so _rude?_ " He's ruled a concussion out, which leaves him with no explanation for the Lieutenant's unusual behaviour.

"Fuck off Anderson," he mumbles in reply, blinking as his diagnostic reports that something is properly online now. A minor component, so it doesn't free up much processing power.

The Lieutenant is somehow closer, setting one hand on the desk beside Gavin's leg and staring into his face like he's never seen him before. Gavin remains still, as if he's encountered a wild animal and does not wish to provoke it. Although, with both of the Andersons that seems accurate sometimes. Connor is… softer than Nines 82.346% of the time, but the remaining 17.654% is always an impressive sight.

This, however, he isn't sure where this interaction fits in.

"Gavin."

He frowns, runs a broader scan to check- well, to check anything that might be the cause of this behaviour. "It's nice to hear you using my fuckin name, but I don-" He's interrupted by the crash of lips against his own. O…kay? Connor Anderson is… is kissing him. _Why is-_ The scan returns with **> BLOOD ALCOHOL CONCENTRATION: .026** just as Connor's tongue dips between his lips and he can taste the alcohol himself. His forensic analysis functions are effectively turned off, so he doesn't know what the Lieutenant has had to drink, but he's confident the man doesn't mean much, if anything, by the kiss. At least he uh, he thinks so.

The way Connor slips one hand into his jacket and winds the arm around Gavin's waist is introducing some doubt to that conclusion. "You are the worst," Connor asserts, leaning back to take a breath.

Gavin basically hasn't moved, hands still flat on his own thighs, though his eyes are a little wide. "What?" he says, not following whatever thought process Connor is going through.

"Gaaavin ser'ously, is this okay? Hey, are you even feeling things? Do-do you _feel?"_ Connor lowers his voice and his head, like whatever he's saying is some sort of secret or taboo subject even as he lifts his hand from the edge of the desk to Gavin's neck. His simulated breathing hitches. A brief malfunction must have run through the automated process. Connor drags blunt nails along the side of his neck and it happens again, accompanied by a weak threat assessment warning about the superficial grazes.

 _Fuck yes_ he feels things. Quite a few things right now actually, and with most of his general processing currently allocated to the auto-fix diagnostic, he has no hope of cataloguing and understanding them. "My sense receptors are functional," he says as an answer, noting that the volume of his own words has decreased to match Connor's. "I am deviant as well, like a-all an-droids." Whatever Connor is doing, it's confusing his receptors, and he isn't getting a clear picture, and it's affecting his vocal output. _Functional_ seems like it may have been an overstatement. He looks down from Connor's gaze, because if his receptors won't explain how the way Connor is touching him has changed, then he'll just use optical software.

The Lieutenant has nudged his knees apart and shuffled forward into the newly created space. His threat assessment tries to tell him something, but Connor hasn't touched the access ports for any of his biocomponents, nor is the human strong (or apparently sober) enough to restrain him. That thought, about sobriety, brings up another weak warning. Though as Connor leans in again and Gavin's hands shift from his own legs to the man's waist, the warning gets overridden by all the things he knows he's feeling but can't identify.

 **> LIEUTENANT ANDERSON IS INEBRIATED** flashes across his HUD and he freezes abruptly, still and ignoring Connor for a moment as he realigns some processing power, because something about this fact is important. Finally, he comes to a conclusion that requires action: Connor is drunk, and his overly protective twin is somewhere in the station. That overly protective, ~~scary~~ intimidating twin has a tendency to _not_ ask questions when Gavin and Connor end up in physical altercations, and while this isn't a fight, he's sure Nines will be… less than impressed with the situation.

"F-fuck," Gavin murmurs, only half-consciously sending off a request for aid to Hank - only Hank. "Con- Lieutenant, you're drunk."

"Mm," Connor breathes, leaning forwards and dropping his head on Gavin's shoulder. "It helps," he adds a moment later, the words so soft only an android's auditory receptors could pick it up. Is this…? Gavin takes a moment to reroute a fair bit of his processing power, suddenly thinking that he should be working at a sufficient capacity to understand just what is going on.

Is this about the case? Is there something about the earlier altercation that made the Lieutenant want to inhibit his own thinking via alcohol? That seems likely, though he doesn't have enough information to guess at what that thing may be.

Someone is chuckling lowly. Gavin turns his head and sees Hank two-poi2t… two-poLnt-t8rF3… somewhere between two and three yards away. Gavin blinks away the struggling calculation, marking the exact distance as **|Unimportant|** so the algorithm will stop trying to complete. He thinks that saying 'help' might be a little much; he's fairly confident that the wide-eyed expression on his face explains enough about the situation, regardless of the fact that he's got Connor wrapped around him and his own hands solidly on the man's waist.

"Lieutenant Anderson," Hank rumbles, his tone coming out softer than usual. Connor groans quietly, nuzzling into Gavin's neck and pulling him closer - like he's nothing more than a person-sized-and-shaped plush toy. "Lieutenant, I'm finished here, I would like to go home."

Gavin thinks it's interesting that Hank says 'home.' He knows the older android has not acquired a residence of his own, that Hank's address in the DPD database is the same as Connor's, though he had previously assumed that was simply to make things easier. Considering the station isn't supposed to be a long-term residence for any androids anymore, each who has chosen to work there has been required to log an alternate address by the end of their first four weeks.

Regardless, Hank says 'home' and it sounds like he means it, like it isn't just for Connor's sake.

He thinks it must be nice, to have a place to go after work and call it home and _mean it._ His tiny apartment nearby is a place to crash, to store his spare uniform and personal charging station, to go back to so he doesn't stay at the station all night, but- But it doesn't feel like 'home' and he doesn't know what would make it feel like home.

Connor presses lips that he recognizes as soft against his neck, making him jump a little. "Le's go home," the Lieutenant mumbles and releases Gavin abruptly, turning and walking awkwardly to Hank who is holding out a beckoning hand.

Gavin would be unbalanced from leaning against someone leaning against him and then all of a sudden not having that someone anymore- except he's an android, and his body auto-balance functions are working properly. He blinks a few times, watching as Connor reaches Hank's hand and grabs hold, huddling close to the large body. "Swear you won't tell Nines," Gavin says suddenly.

Hank sighs lightly, turning just far enough to meet his eyes without really moving the Lieutenant's half-aware body. _'Don't worry about it. I doubt Connor will say a word either.'_ This is their secret then, a secret Gavin kind of wants to delete from his memory.

He'll be better off just rerouting processing power to the auto-fix diagnostic instead of wandering down the paths of his own coding and memory databanks.

**Author's Note:**

> the case probably includes an 11/12 yo kid getting hurt or smth, so. that's how drinking to forget 'helps' for Connor.


End file.
